Dancing along the Edge
by GraceBe
Summary: After Isobel has called off her engagement to Lord Merton, she meets him at a party...


**Merry Christmas everyone!**

 **This is not a Christmas story, but I have written it for a dear friend of mine as a Christmas gift. I hope you will enjoy this little story that is indeed a little angsty, but those who know me, know I can't help myself LOL. I also have to thank L for bring this into a better shape! Thank you so much!**

 **Enjoy your holidays and enjoy this little piece about Isobel & Lord Merton and what happens when Isobel gets a little jealous... **

**Dancing along the edge**

Isobel Crawley closed the door behind her and leaned against it, glad to leave the noise of the ongoing party in the great hall behind. The silence of this room was what she needed now. The lights here in the library were dim, only a lit by a fire that cast shadows over the shelved walls and furniture.

So far her evening had been horrible. Not only did she have to stomach Violet's snarky comments about Lord Merton's presence at the party, but also that of Lady Shackleton's. She was actually quite charming and witty, as always, and Isobel could see Lord Merton had only eyes for her.

He seemed only too happy to chat with her all evening, causing the other guests, almost every aristocratic figure from the county, to raise their eyebrows in curiosity and somewhat delighted suspicion. Their tongues were already wagging and the evening wasn't even over yet.

Isobel hated how Dickie exposed himself to gossip. It was not a secret that Lady Shackleton was unhappy with her new status as Dowager living in a cottage. Isobel would happily bet every guinea she owned that Lady Shackleton was only to keen to become the next Lady Merton. Cavenham Park was just the estate she needed to reinvent herself as a leading figure of the county.

Surely, Dickie must be aware of her advances and the motive behind them, after all, everyone else certainly knew what was going on. Why didn't he just avoid her? Or perhaps he wasn't aware of her motives, and simply enjoyed the female attention? Every rejected man would do so, so why wouldn't he?

The idea that he could end up again with someone who was only after his title and position made her sick in the stomach.

He deserved to be loved, to be happy.

Her eyes fell on the small bar. She needed something to calm her nerves and so she helped herself for a brandy. The dark liquid ran down her throat, leaving an uncomfortable burning sensation on its way down. The alcohol ultimately warmed her from the inside, but it didn't provide the comfort she was seeking. She drew a deep breath and put down the glass. She really needed to relax. Dickie Merton was not her concern. She had called off their engagement three months ago. It was over and they had to move on with their lives.

He was flirting with Lady Shackleton. So, he was obviously moving on while she was moping in the library. Or had she missed something about them in the first place? Maybe they have known each other much better than Isobel was aware of. She had wondered before, whether there had been other women in his life. His marriage had been unhappy and he was an attractive man. Surely, a lot of women would have taken their chances with a man like him?

Shaken by this ghastly idea, Isobel refilled her glass. This time the alcohol didn't burn her throat. It just sent another wave of pleasant warmth throughout her body. She hadn't eaten much at dinner. At the table she had watched Dickie and Lady Shackleton chat and enjoy each other's company and the sight had caused her to lose her appetite.

And then the music in the great hall had started and Dickie had asked Lady Shakleton to dance. That was the moment Isobel had fled the hall to find some peace. Dickie was a terrific dancer. He liked dancing just as much as she liked it, even though she had once claimed to him to hate it.

It really shouldn't bother her that he was dancing with someone else, but it did. It hurt more than the brandy that started churning in her stomach. How stupid was she to drink alcohol on an almost empty stomach! How stupid was she to allow his behaviour to get to her like this.

Isobel heard how the door opening. The music and the laughter from the party reached her ear and she quickly turned, hiding the empty glass behind her back.

"There you are."

Isobel's jaw dropped when she saw that Dickie was the one entering the library.

"I was looking for you," he said, approaching her. "What are you doing in here all alone?"

"I... I have a headache," she lied, confused he had suddenly turned up. She suddenly felt light-hearted and wasn't quite sure if she should blame the brandy or his sudden appearance.

"I noticed you didn't touch your food," he remarked quietly. "I just wanted to make sure my presence hasn't spoiled the party for you."

"It hasn't." Another lie, but she could hardly tell him the truth. She didn't consider herself a good liar, but apparently she had sounded convincing enough to bring a smile on his face.

"I'm glad to hear it. I wasn't sure if I should attend."

She returned the smile, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. He noticed it and his expression darkened again. "Isobel, why don't you tell me what's really wrong?"

"What should be wrong?" she asked a bit too quickly.

"Something's bothering you. I can tell."

"Don't mind me. Just go back outside and enjoy your evening. You're certainly not short of entertainment." It came out harsher than she had intended and as soon as the words were out, she regretted them. She was angry and the alcohol had loosened her tongue. She wished he would leave her alone and he seemed to sense that.

"I'm sorry if I bothered you. It wasn't my intention." He gave her a sad smile and retreated. He was about to open the door when she called after him.

"Dickie… I'm sorry."

With slow steps he returned to her and mustered her with curiosity. "I'll accept your apology with one condition."

"Which is?" she asked cautiously.

"Dance with me."

Isobel's mouth opened in shock. He chuckled, "Why not? I promise I won't step on your toes."

"I'm not worried about my toes," she countered.

"Then what?"

She was about to tell him not to be so daft, but she managed to keep at least that to herself. "Everybody here knows we've called off our engagement. I don't want them gossip. And I'm not sure Lady Shackleton would like it either."

Dickie crooked his right eyebrows. "May I correct you… _you_ were the one who called off our engagement."

"Let's not split hairs."

"And Lady Shackleton is an old friend," he continued, as if he hadn't heard her last remark.

"I didn't know you were that well acquainted," she snapped.

"We are not," he said calmly. "But I'm touched you feel bothered by the thought of it."

"I'm not bothered," she said and felt blood colour her cheeks. The alcohol really had brought out the worst of her.

"So, will you dance with me?" he repeated his request. Perseverance was really one of his stronger suits. "We can dance here if you don't wish to be seen with me."

"You know it's not that," she argued helplessly She was running out of excuses. "But you know how people are."

He took a step back and held out his hand. "Since when do you care about other people and what they think or say?"

She wanted to object. Her mouth opened, but the words stuck in her throat when she saw the look on his face. It was obvious he wouldn't have any of her objections. Defeated she took his hand and allowed him to pull her in, a little closer than necessary, his hand firm on her back. The music from the great hall was almost inaudible here, but it didn't matter. As soon as he started to lead her, the music in her head was enough. It felt so easy to dance with him, and although her head was spinning, she didn't miss a step.

"You know what I was wondering about?Back then at Rose's ball you said you weren't much of a dancer, yet you seem to enjoy it."

"I never said I didn't enjoy dancing," she answered, trying to avoid the eye contact he tried to establish. "I just don't dance much."

"You should dance more."

Isobel was only half listening. She felt hot and was becoming so dizzy that she found it harder and harder to control her feet. Whether he noticed her failing concentration or not, he didn't show and just continued to lead her gracefully across the room. Then it happened. Her right foot got stuck between his feet and she almost stumbled. He caught her gallantly, his arm safely wrapped around her waist. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping to stop the world whirling around her, hoping that she wouldn't have to see the amusement in eyes.

"I'm sorry, but…" she mumbled against his jacket, while she tried to steady herself.

"Are you all right?" he asked, his voice heavy with concern.

"I'm dizzy," she answered. Drinking the brandy tonight had indeed been a bad idea.

"Let's sit down for a moment," he said and took her hand to lead her to the sofa.

"You should have eaten something," he said, once she was sitting. "Or maybe you're coming down with something. You look a bit flushed. We should call for the doctor." He sank down next to her and looked at her carefully.

"No!" she objected quickly. "I'm not ill."

"But…"

"Dickie, I'm not ill," she insisted, her eyes still closed and her palms pressed against her temples.

"I'll get you some water," he rose, ignoring her protests. When he poured her a glass of water, he noticed the empty glass next to the carafe of brandy. He suppressed a sigh and handed her the glass.

"I've always admired Robert's good taste in wine and brandy. His wine cellar is exquisite," he said, causing her to choke into her glass. She felt her cheeks burn and wished she could disappear.

"You'll regret that tomorrow," he joked mildly.

"I'm sorry," she said, facing the flames in the fireplace. "I've been a part of this family for so many years now and today I've finally managed to make a complete fool out of myself." She laughed nervously.

Dickie chuckled and sat down on the ottoman in front of the sofa.

"In my eyes, you're the most charming drunk that has ever set foot in this house."

"I doubt it." She finished the glass and he took it.

"I won't tell anyone, if you don't. Should I order some coffee?" he offered.

Isobel shook her head, "No, thank you. I think I'll try to sneak away without being seen. I don't want Lady Grantham or anyone else to see me like this."

"Let me take you home," he said. "No one will notice."

She contemplated the suggestion, but then she shook her head. "You know that's not a good idea."

"Why not?" He asked dumbfounded, but then she gave him a meaningful look and he understood.

"You're safe with me," he said quietly. "I hope you know that."

Her smile was sadder than he had ever seen it before when she spoke again, "I do," she answered truthfully. "But who says you're safe with me?"

In a more sober state she probably wouldn't have done what she was doing now, but the urge to touch him was stronger than her ability to contain herself. So she reached out to touch his face, to feel his skin under her fingertips. Her thumb ran gently over his cheek, causing him to clench his jaw. The muscles at his neck tensed and he closed his eyes upon her soft caress. Yet, he didn't – couldn't – allow himself to enjoy her unexpected touch. He opened his eyes again and pulled away from her.

"Isobel, please."

"You see. It hurts, doesn't it?" she asked, her hand now resting on the collar of his jacket.

"What do you want to prove?" he asked, visibly shaken.

"I don't know," she admitted weakly. It was the truth. She didn't know what was going on with her. The whole evening she had not wanted to be in the same room with him and now she didn't want to leave. On the contrary, she wished they could be alone like this forever. They hadn't been alone for such a long time and she had missed him. She missed the laughter they had shared, their walks, and the silent understanding between them. How much she had looked forward to spending her life with him. She was used to being alone, but she hadn't been lonely until now. Dickie had loved her and she had lost him, because she had felt too old and tired to fight for him.

He looked down on the hand that lay on his chest and took it gently. "It's time we get you some coffee."

"I don't want coffee," Isobel said. She freed her hand, as he started to get up and slipped her arms around his neck. Taken by complete surprise, he lost his balance. The glass fell on the floor and shattered. His hands on her waist he held her to him, as he crashed down and ended onto the ottoman. She struggled too, but managed to end safely next to him. She let out a nervous chuckle, but he was less amused by their little accident.

"Are you hurt?" he rubbed his knee.

"No. And you?"

"I suppose I'll survive."

She watched with amused tenderness while he did his best to straighten his tie. "I'm just fine," she said quietly as she touched his face again, her eyes sparkling mischievously, "I really do feel safe with you."

Very softly she pressed her lips on his mouth. He was taken by surprise again, but he didn't avoid her touch his time. Defeated by her boldness, he closed his arm tighter around her waist, and pulled her closer. Once his lips parted for invading tongue, her heart beat increased and performed a drum roll in her chest.

They had kissed before, but it had never been so breathtaking. It had been such a long time since she had kissed someone the way she was kissing Dickie in this moment. The heat that was rising from her core wasn't a product of the brandy. It was the awakening desire for a man who wasn't married to her and whom she refused to marry, because it implicated too much turmoil.

With gentle determination Dickie broke the kiss and pulled back to look at her face. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't..." His face was flushed and he tried to loosen his collar.

"Don't." Isobel didn't allow him to speak and tenderly placed her index finger on his lips. She didn't want to hear an apology. She didn't want him to regret their kiss. With a weary sigh she rested her forehead against his and closed her eyes. Her fingers massaged the back of his neck, fearing the loss of physical contact could make her realize how foolish she was.

"I should have ordered that coffee," she admitted flatly, her fingers playing with his white tie. "Did you ever kiss Lady Shackleton like you just kissed me?" she asked.

"No," he answered tonelessly. "I've never kissed her and I don't intend to do so."

"And why not?" Isobel asked and leaned her head against his shoulder. "Don't you know she's after you? You should have her rather than me. She's less trouble than I am."

With an audible sigh, Dickie slipped his arm around her shoulder and stroked her arm. "I don't want her."

Isobel turned her head to have a look at him. She looked like a petulant child. "But she's better suited for you than I am. She's rich and she has a title. She's more than a former nurse who takes care of prostitutes or invalids. You should marry someone like her! I bet Larry won't have any objections against her," her voice was dripping with sarcasm,

"And to miss out on someone like you?" he countered. Her face reddened again and she looked away.

"I'm really making a fool out of myself," she mumbled. The merry-go-round in her head was slowing down, but her body was suddenly very tired. "Will you take me home now?" she asked, suppressing a yawn. "Before I say or do even worse things?"

"Anything you want."

He rose and offered her his hand. She took it and getting up, she was pleased to discover that she had found her balance again. Perhaps she could make it through the hall without attracting curious glances.

"I'll tell Carson to bring your coat in here," Dickie said. "We can leave through the small library."

"And what will he think of me?"

Dickie shrugged, "I'll tell him you feel ill and need to go home without any fuss. He won't ask any further questions."

* * *

Twenty minutes later they reached Crawley House and Dickie offered Isobel his hand, as she climbed out.

"I'll walk you to the door."

Glad to have left the Abbey and Lady Shackleton behind her, Isobel smiled at him, and took his arm. It was a pleasant night, the night air carrying the scent of roses and lavender.

They walked in silence to her front door, but as he reached up to knock, Isobel caught his hand. "Wait."

"What is it?" he asked surprised.

Nervously, she bit her lower lip. "Thank you, Dickie. You really were my saviour tonight."

Dickie shook his head. "Don't thank me. I've done nothing to deserve it."

"But of course you deserve it," she smiled and stretched a little to kiss his cheek. She sensed how he froze and touched his other cheek with her gloved hand. Ever since they had started to dance she had wanted them to get where they were standing now.

They had been dancing along the edge all evening and now she was tumbling into the abyss.

She didn't want him to leave and there was just one way to stop him. Her heart skipped a beat before she asked the inevitable question, fully knowing she was complicating their lives, fully knowing she was risking her reputation, and his good opinion of her.

"Won't you come in?" she whispered into his ear. "Just this once."

Not moving, he held his breath while her parted lips ran over his cheek and found the way to his mouth. He hesitated briefly before returning the kiss, his hand closing around the back of her neck as he pulled her against him. They kissed until they were out of breath, until she was trembling. Not quite able to tell him how much she wanted him, she touched him, her hands roaming his body.

"Oh, my darling, you really want to test me, don't you?" he asked, breaking away from her.

"I want you to stay with me," she simply answered.

Flustered, he shook his head, "This is the brandy talking. I can't…. I would never forgive myself, if you woke up in the morning and regretted it."

"I won't regret it," she insisted stubbornly.

"Does that mean you will marry me?" he asked and she swallowed. She didn't have to say it; the way she avoided his eyes told him everything he needed to know.

"I see," he cleared his throat. "I can't. As much as I want to and as tempting as it is, as tempting as you are… I can't. I love you too much. Things like this never stay secret… people will talk. They always do."

Deep down inside, where she was still capable of reason, she knew he was right. He was an honourable man, a gentleman who was raised to treat women with the utmost respect – yet the rejection hurt her deeply. He took her hand, squeezed it gently, and placed a kiss on it. "I'm sorry, Isobel, but it's not right. I'm sure come morning you will agree with me."

"Good night," she whispered softly, grateful for the darkness that surrounded them. She would never be able to look at him again, she was certain.

"Good night," he said wearily.

Isobel waited until his motorcar had left, before she went in. She was wide awake now and the idea of slipping into her lonely bed after what had just happened was torture. She didn't change that night and she didn't go upstairs. She spent the following hours in her drawing room and waited for the new day to begin.

 **The End**


End file.
